


A Chance Arrangement

by pfaerie



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Casual Sex, Crossover, Emotional Constipation, Falling In Love, M/M, commitment issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-04 07:11:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13359159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pfaerie/pseuds/pfaerie
Summary: If his heart were made of gold, Jack would have cut it out and sold it a long time ago.





	1. Dampened Spirits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HeroFrequency](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroFrequency/gifts).



> Basically Jack follows the Thieves Guild questline, Gabriel follows the Dark Brotherhood, and they have a lot of sex between it all. Jack doesn't know how to be in love with someone, and it's mostly a story about learning to be vulnerable.
> 
> I have no idea how to tag this one.

Jack is mostly sober when the familiar, hollow echo of the Ragged Flagon greets him. He’s still a little peeved about his second run-in with the Dark Brotherhood at Honningbrew, but the important thing is the job is done and Mercer can start tracking the guild leak. The bouncer gives him his usual nod and says, “don’t cause any trouble,” as Jack saunters up the stone walkway to the wooden ramp.

“When am I not a perfect angel?” Jack laughs, folding his hands in the best mimicry of a priest he can manage. He bats his eyelashes innocently, but Dirge remains unphased. He doesn’t even have the decency to raise an eyebrow. Jack drops the act with a sigh. “We always have the most stimulating conversations, Dirge.” He pats his shoulder when he slips past him and into the Flagon.

There’s a shadowed corner at the bar that Jack loves. The stacked barrels and crates around the end make it private without being completely isolated. Potential clients feel safe enough to talk about their problems, usually ranging from scaring an abusive parent or a cheating spouse, without fear of being overheard.

Jack’s always had a soft spot for those clients, his own father a particular cut of obsessive and controlling, but it’s not the personal connection that motivates him. If his heart were made of gold, he would have cut it out and sold it a long time ago, and, while charity cases aren’t particularly lucrative, the Thieves Guild is a more tolerable presence to the citizens of Riften because of him. In the end, it’s a smart move that keeps him employed.

The Flagon is uncharacteristically busy, or at least most of the tables are full of unfamiliar faces, a few Khajiit and a Dunmer are chatting with Delvin and a group of orcs are huddled at another table, occasionally muttering something to one another. The bar is nearly full, too, or it would be if the people crowded at the right side of the bar were to take a seat. 

He supposes inevitably his spot would be taken every once in a while, but after today he just wants to drink in peace. Like a petulant child, he takes the seat right next to the offender and orders an Alto, making sure to teeter just on the edge of the stranger’s personal space.

“Figures you drink the shit for infants.”

It’s not until Vekel slides the wooden mug to him that he realizes he was being addressed. He lifts his drink and says, “Excuse me?” over the rim, turning to face the man fully. Jack can only see the right side of his face, but he’d recognize that smirk anywhere. He spits his drink, luckily most of it makes it back in the cup before he slams it on the bar, and mutedly shouts, “It’s you!”

The stranger, or rather the Dark Brotherhood Bastard, tips back the rest of his drink almost languidly, oblivious to the amount of anger radiating off Jack. He’s never actually seen the details of his face, so he starts cataloguing. Two on his cheekbone, one on his nose, two above his eyebrow. He sets his cup down and faces Jack fully, and he counts another one on his left cheek and another on the corner of his mouth that disappears into his beard. 

“It’s me,” he agrees, lazily dragging his eyes up Jack’s body, probably sizing him, too. 

Jack bares his teeth like a feral dog and grits out, “You own me so many septims, skeever-scat.” His leather gloves squeak when he balls his fingers into tight fights.

“No need for names, and I don’t owe you shit. Not my fault you’re slow on the draw.”

He isn’t sure if the bastard worded it that way on purpose, but both of them suddenly have steel pressed dangerously to each other’s throats. He doesn’t have a particularly good view of it, but he knows the sharp, undulating blade threatening to tear his skin if he so much as swallows is a kris. Somewhere behind him, Brynjolf groans, but nobody else acknowledges the scene, not even Dirge. Some bouncer.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Jack spits.

“The fucking Dragonborn.” 

Jack thinks this proves his theory that only delusional loons join the Dark Brotherhood. He’s had the pleasure of meeting a few, courtesy of Delvin, and every single one of them has some weird fucking quirk, though this one has to be the worst since he’s been stalking Jack across the continent for three weeks. 

“Gabriel,” the stranger says, and Jack must look confused because the stranger rolls his eyes and clarifies. “My name. It’s Gabriel.”

It doesn’t sound like any name he’s ever heard. “Where does that come from?”

“High Rock.”

“You don’t look Breton.”

“Sounds like something a Nord would say,” Gabriel jeers.

Jack doesn’t bother correcting him because he tries to keep the whole Imperial thing quiet. “That’s not what I meant, you just look…” 

Gabriel rolls his eyes, and his nostrils flare in a way that strongly suggests he doesn’t even try to finish that sentence. 

“Let’s start over. I’m Jack. Can I buy you a drink?” he says, slowly pulling his dagger from Gabriel’s throat. Gabriel follows suit and slides his dagger into the sheath on his back. Another handle sticks out on the other side of his back, and Jack knows it’s enchanted by the purple aura surrounding it.

“I don’t drink Alto,” he says. “Or do you only drink it because it’s cheap?”

Jack clicks his tongue. “Despite getting shafted my last two jobs, I can afford things.”

Delvin chooses that exact moment to meader to the bar for a refill. He puts a hand on the nape of his neck and squeezes hard, laughing good-naturedly. “Don’t waste your septims, kid. You’re just going to spit it all out.”

“Just because I refuse to drink that charcoal-flavored piss water you call mead doesn’t mean I can’t handle my liquor. I have refined taste.”

“You did not just slander the good name of Ashfire Mead,” Gabriel gasps. “Colovian Brandy,” he says to Vekel when he hands Delvin his drink. “And a bottle of Firebrand Wine. I have to teach this milk-drinker a thing or two immediately.”

“Milk-drinker?” Jack repeats. “Of all the things I’ve been called, that’s got to be the worst.”

“Because it’s true?” He shoves a mug full of something into his hands. The smell alone makes Jack cringe, and he knows it’s the brandy because it doesn’t smell like a fire pit. He makes a face, but Gabriel knocks their mugs together and says, “Drink!” It’s not exactly bitter, but it’s sour and makes Jack’s face pucker when it hits his tongue. Gabriel claps him on the back and laughs. “It’s not fuckin’ Mazte, don’t do that.”

“It’s so sour,” Jack complains, trading mugs with Gabriel. He manages to drink the Firebrand Wine without gagging. 

Gabriel does the same. “It’s a little sour,” he agrees. “Must’ve gotten a bad bottle.” He pours himself some more with a shrug.

“You aren’t seriously going in for more, are you?”

“Maybe it won’t be as bad the second time around.”

“Oh, okay. You have a problem. I see.” Jack polishes off his wine and pours himself some brandy, too. It’s his turn to knock his mug against Gabriel’s. “To making bad decisions,” he says, tipping his head back and downing the entire mug in just a few swallows. It’s not as bad the second time around, but that’s how alcohol is.

Somewhere down the line, they stop using mugs and just drink from the bottles. He has to actively think about balance, and they get so loud that Delvin cuts them off and makes Vekel give them some food and water to sober up. They argue, but it dies down when they start shoving bread, apple slices, and grilled chicken in their mouths.

“You need to try Mazte, though. That’ll knock the boots right off your damn feet,” Gabriel says, a dreamy glaze over his deep, brown eyes. “Fuck, if I could get my hands on just one bottle of Balmora Blue…”

“Didn’t that get banned because it burned a hole in someone’s throat?”

“Allegedly.”

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Do you interrogate every stranger that takes your seat, or am I special?”

Jack shrugs. “Depends of you. We could get out of here if you want.”

Gabriel laughs, and it’s not a very nice one. “Vex warned me about you.”

His relationship with the woman is strained at best. She doesn’t think him particularly special, at least not in the way that Brynjolf does, and she doesn’t seem to like how quick Jack is to knock boots with total strangers. Something about making himself too vulnerable and exposing the guild? She calls him names, and Delvin helpfully insists she call Jack a “courtesan” because it sounds classier.

“What’d she say?” Jack asks, keeping his voice level.

“Just that you’re really forward.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” Gabriel says carefully. “It’s just, I haven’t been following you around Tamriel just to annoy you.”

\---

The doors in the Bee in the Barb are heavy and sturdy, perfect for being pushed against in a heated fit of passion as far as vertical surfaces go. Jack knows from experience, though he’s usually the one doing the pinning. He’s never had any complaints, but he always figured being trapped between - well, there’s a joke about hard places Jack can’t quite piece together - would feel suffocating.

Gabriel is as tall as he is, but somehow it feels like he’s so much bigger the way he’s crowding into Jack. His mouth is like fire, and he still tastes like alcohol even though they’ve managed to get most of it out of their system. The only reason the room is spinning is because Gabriel is kissing him breathless, biting and sucking and licking until his lips absolutely throb, and still he doesn’t stop.

He’s already hard and straining against his armor, and it hurts to grind against the stiff leather, but he barely registers the pain. His hands search for clasps, buckles, and straps he can undo, and he feels Gabriel do the same. Every clatter of leather on wood is sweeter music to Jack’s ears than any tune the most gifted bard in Solitude could ever strum. But there’s always more armor on both of them, more straps for weapons and poisons and potions, that it seems endless until finally Jack gets a fistful of soft, threadbare tunic in his hands.

Gabriel is the first to pull away, leaving Jack dizzy and kiss-drunk and naked against the door. Every single nerve in his body is buzzing excitedly that he doesn’t notice the splinters pricking him where skin meets wood. Gabriel sucks in an appreciative breath that reminds Jack to breathe, and his lungs burn when he finally inhales.

Scars, some old, some new, criss-cross with hard lines of Gabriel’s muscles, each mark proudly accentuating every swell and dip of his body. A particularly fresh looking one on his collarbone leads Jack’s eyes to a large, black tattoo that winds around his right bicep, all the way from his shoulder to his elbow. It vaguely reminds Jack of the few Dunmer markings he’s seen when a job takes him to the Windhelm slums. The marks on his ribs might be runes, though they look nothing like the ones Jack has seen mages use, and Gabriel doesn’t seem like any of the mages he’s ever met. He doesn’t get the chance to ponder the maybe-runes for long, eyes skating down Gabriel’s belly to the way his cock is curving against one of his muscular thighs - one of which has another Dunmer-looking tattoo that wraps around him, right about the knee.

His own cock is half-mast and begging to be touched, but he can’t get his body to push off the door step forward. Gabriel crowds into his space again, kisses him roughly and grabs his shoulders before swinging him towards the bed. Their bodies are taut with impatience, the promise of sex fraying both of their composure. It’s like they’re trying to hold back, go slow and really savor this even though it’s just sex.

The mattress isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but it’s soft and clean, which is all that matters. They kiss for hours, or maybe it only feels that way, before Gabriel starts to mouth his way down the length of Jack’s body, his collarbone, his second to last rib, the freckle on his stomach, his belly button. There’s a cool rush of air when Gabriel inhales deeply, taking in the scent of the thick, dark gold curls at the base of his cock.

The callouses on Gabriel’s confident fingers scrape in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant against Jack’s velvet-soft skin when he stands his cock upright and licks a long stripe from base to tip. He teases his slit, then closes his lips around the head and swirls his tongue in a way that has Jack seeing stars. He considers himself to be a fairly polite lay, but it’s hard to keep himself still when Gabriel is doing that, and fuck, now he’s sucking the length of him into his mouth, agonizingly slow. Jack gives an experimental thrust, and the vibrations course through him like a bolt of lightning when Gabriel moans in approval.

He doesn’t register the slick fingers in his ass until Gabriel’s adding a third. A strangled, “Uh?” is all that comes out of his mouth, and Gabriel looks at him through a thick curtain of lashes, smirk pulled tight around Jack’s cock, before pulling off.

“Trust me,” he says, voice pleasantly rough when he speaks. Jack must look skeptical because he adds, “I’m too big to just…I don’t want to hurt you,” and it’s kind of alarmingly sweet and unexpected how the man Jack thought of as a rival until a few hours ago is turning out to be so considerate. Well, in bed. He did make him drink half the bottle of sour brandy.

Jack’s not used to any of this - the kissing, the fingers, the attention. He’s certainly not used to how long it’s taking to get to the main event. This isn’t the race he’s usually caught in. How long has he been hard already? Jack’s lost track of time.

“Is this alright?” Gabriel asks. 

Jack fists his fingers in the sheets beneath him, thin and soft with overuse, and nods. “Don’t stop,” he says, and apparently it’s fucking opposite day because Gabriel  _ does _ stop, pulls his fingers out, and climbs back up his body, sucking marks into his skin until he gets their mouths together for another aching long kiss. He tastes like salt and sweat and Firebrand Whiskey. Jack almost swears to never drink again if it means lapping the taste from Gabriel’s mouth like this.

He presses his hands flat against the large expanse of Gabriel’s chest, appreciating the warmth and sweat rolling off of him. They both jump when Jack rolls his nipples between his thumb and forefinger. Gabriel tries to hide his face in the crook of Jack’s neck, but it’s too late.

“I didn’t realize you were sensitive,” he says impishly.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget that,” Gabriel mutters. 

Jack makes a move to turn onto his belly, but Gabriel captures his mouth in another kiss. His legs are guided around Gabriel’s hips, and Jack makes a sound of disapproval because this is not a position he particularly likes. He realizes he could just say this, but none of his other partners have ever looks as good as Gabriel, and Jack is curious as to how flushed his cheeks get when he comes. He kick his legs over Gabriel’s shoulders, though, because that feels even better and he likes when his thighs burn.

Gabriel seems to be interested in just how flexible Jack is, easing himself forward until Jack is folded in half, knees pressed to his shoulders. He gets close enough that Jack can feel his breath ghosting over his lips, can feel how warm and ragged the puffs of air are before he presses their lips together. A deep, rumbling moan escapes Gabriel’s throat, and Jack can feel the vibrations of it like a roll of thunder before Gabriel finally pushes into him.

It’s so unbearably slow-going that Gabriel may as well be torturing him, but the stretch feels amazing that Jack unwillingly closes his eyes and chews at his lower lip. Gabriel’s whispering in his ear, saying things they both forget as soon as the words hit the air. His teeth brush against Jack’s earlobe with every syllable.

All three languages worth of vocabulary quickly abandons Jack’s head when Gabriel is fully sheathed, leaving him with the only words that matter:  _ harder, faster, more _ in what he hopes is the common tongue. Whatever he’s speaking, Gabriel gets the message and does as he’s asked. Jack grabs Gabriel by the biceps, just to feel them flex, fingernails biting marks into his dark skin. 

Orgasm washes over Jack like a tidal wave, hard and fast and wet. His toes curl so tight his calves spasm. Gabriel’s cock is still stiff and pulsing inside of him, but he slows down and thrusts so deliberately that Jack has to pull himself from the aftershocks. It’s a surprise to both of them when he flips their positions so Jack is on top, aching thighs on either side of Gabriel’s hips as he positions himself.

Gabriel’s got his bottom lip sucked between his teeth, dark skin going white at the pressure. His dark eyes are hooded so heavily that Jack almost thinks they’re closed, but then they flick up to his face and Jack can’t quite place what emotion flashes through them as they stare at each other. Jack wants to kiss him. He wants to feel the coarse hair of his beard catch on his own stubbly chin. He wants to taste the whiskey still clinging to Gabriel’s breath. He wants to kiss him so hard that their mouths are swollen and bruised for days.

His heart thunders like a drum as he tips forward, and it’s all he can hear when Gabriel kisses him back.

They kiss as they writhe together, teeth clashing and tongues doing as they please. Thrills of white hot pleasure ripple through Jack’s body every time their hips slam together, every time Gabriel’s fingernails bite into the flesh of his hips, every time his teeth threaten to cut open the sensitive skin inside his lips.

He’s hard again, trapped between his and Gabriel’s belly. The friction’s not enough, so he pulls away and braces a hand behind him, catching the hard muscle of Gabriel’s flexing thigh. He and Gabriel moan in unison when Jack wraps a hand around himself and starts to tug impatiently.

Gabriel drives his hips up hard and spills deep inside of Jack, who isn’t far behind. His hand is batted away, and Gabriel’s pumping him ruthlessly, begging Jack to come a second time. Jack doesn’t have it in him to feel rebellious, or even make a smart-ass remark - and spills into Gabriel’s fist with a shout, collapsing on him as his bones disintegrate to nothing. 

Gabriel’s hands scratch pleasantly at the planes of Jack’s skin. The hair on his arms and neck stand on end as Gabriel kneads his fingers into his muscles, half massaging the aches of exertion away. Jack does the same, albeit with much less pressure, and fingers the scars and curly hair on the chest he’s currently using as a pillow. 

When Jack gets his head back on his shoulders, he props himself on his elbows and shifts so that Gabriel’s now softened cock slides out of him. Their mouths find each other again, and Jack’s whole body is ablaze with a tingly warmth that makes him feel fuzzy all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. 

They aren’t quite done yet, he thinks. There’s still something else there, a little bit of desperation that’s clawing its way from the depths of Jack’s belly, begging for just one more. They’ve got time. They have to still have time because it had to of stopped as soon as that door closed. They have all the time in the world for just once more.

They both fall to their sides, and it’s a little awkward trying to get the right angle when Gabriel enters him again, but it feels...good is too little a word, but it’s the only one Jack has to describe it. His muscles ache, and his throat feels raw and dry as he gasps into the crook of Gabriel’s neck. He’s trying to memorize the way Gabriel’s breath hitches before he says Jack’s name, the heave of his chest, the gentle scrape of his hands.

One night with Gabriel won’t be enough, but Jack isn’t confident there will be a next time. There never is. It’s too close to commitment.

He’s feeling more than a little desperate and rocks his hips a more frantically until Gabriel brings a hand to his face and traces a thumb across his cheekbone. He pulls away, just a fraction of an inch, and slides a thumb against Jack’s kiss-bruised lip. “You don’t have to rush,” he says, so soft Jack almost doesn’t hear him. “Plenty of time,” he adds, and Jack foolishly lets himself believe him.

It’s lazy the way they’re kissing now, barely moving their mouths. Jack hears something between a whimper and a sob, and it takes Gabriel muttering, “I’ve got you,” over and over in his ear to realize that sound came from his own throat. He doesn’t even realize he comes again until Gabriel does.

Despite how fucked-out he feels, Jack can’t fall asleep. Streams of moonlight paint Gabriel’s face blue. He looks almost peaceful, like he wasn’t just holding a knife to Jack’s throat with another blade pressed to his own before all this. Jack tries to refrain from the word beautiful, but he can’t help it: Gabriel’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his entire life. 

Normally, Jack would be long gone before the sweat dried and the smell of whatever lucky person he tumbled into bed with could cling to him, but this time he doesn’t. He doesn’t feel like he’s required to stay. He doesn’t even feel trapped by the arm slung over his waist. He just simply doesn’t  _ want  _ to leave. It scares him a little bit, but he’s too exhausted and drunk on sex to panic about it right now.

\---

When Jack wakes up, his mouth is uncomfortably dry and his entire body aches in a way that makes it difficult to breathe. He’d expected his ass to hurt the most, but, much to his surprise, it’s every other part of his body that’s screaming at him as he tries to stretch the pain away. He feels less like he had sex last night and more like he got trampled by horses.

Jack’s eyes snap open.

He blinks.

He had sex last night.

Amazing, full-body workout, toe-curlingly incredible sex.

Three times.

Jack blinks again.

Well, twice, but who’s counting?

When he sits up, the feeling of come leaking out of his ass and onto the soiled sheets makes him cringe. His chest and stomach are covered in crusty, dried trails of his own, but he’s more interested in the red and purple bruises decorating his chest and stomach and hips - seriously, they’re all over. Some are darker than others, and Jack decides those are his favorite because they won’t fade as fast.

A racket outside the door pulls Jack out of his thoughts, and he registers that Gabriel is no longer in bed because he’s standing in the doorway trying to balance a steaming wash basin, towels, and a plate of sweet rolls as he wrestles the door closed with his feet. He smiles brightly when he sees Jack. 

“Finally back with me, Sleeping Beauty?” he teases, setting the basin on the dresser. Jack notices that Gabriel’s wearing his tunic instead of his own, but doesn’t say anything.

It’s mid-afternoon judging by the light filtering through the ratty curtains. If they don’t leave within the next hour, Keervara will charge them another night. Gabriel doesn’t seem to be in any rush though. In fact, he’s stripping out of the mix of clothes he’s currently wearing and making himself comfortable.

Jack watches the way the muscles in his back flex as he bends over the basin and splashes water on his face. He dips both washcloths in and wrings them out before turning and offering one to Jack. “You reek,” he says.

“Whose fault is that?” Jack snaps, jutting out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. He snatches the washcloth and starts scrubbing regardless. Gabriel’s eyes are on him, can tell without even looking at him, can feel the way his gaze is burning holes into his skin. He pointedly keeps his his own eyes on a spot on his forearm, rubbed red and raw from too aggressive a scrub.

He’s not embarrassed, not about last night or even sleeping in so late. He’s not even embarrassed about how he’s caked in sweat and spit and seed. He feels...something though. It feels like something crawled into his chest while he was sleeping and is trying to die every time he looks at Gabriel. 

The creak of the bedframe pulls Jack out of his thoughts. Gabriel scoots up close to him and brings a freshly rinsed washcloth to his chest. It’s warm, though Jack thinks that has more to do with the warm hand it’s wrapped around. He’s gentle as he cleans Jack, and the sunlight is hitting the side of his face perfectly.

Gabriel’s eyes are the type of brown that don’t turn gold in the sun. They’re dark like earth, and Jack decides brown eyes, Gabriel’s eyes, are his favorite color. He likes the way they dart from side to side, searching for something, an answer Jack doesn’t think, knows for a fact he doesn’t, he has. 

His eyes fall to the amulet around Jack’s neck and he asks, “what’s this?”

Jack looks down, too. 

It’s a tiny trinket, a diamond of gold with a raised sunburst set inside. The red gem in the middle looks like an eye. There’s symbols engraved in the spaces between the sharp points. Jack considers telling Gabriel that he inherited it from his father, that he’s expected to inherit a seat on the Elder Council and take a wife, but the thought still makes bile rise in his throat so he doesn’t say any of that.

“It’s nothing, really.”

Gabriel doesn’t press the topic further.

“Thanks,” he says when Gabriel gets behind him to scrub his back, and it’s a little easier not having to look at him when he says it. Gabriel just hums in response. Jack’s at a loss for words. He tries to say something,  _ anything, _ but it’s like trying to catch smoke.

When Gabriel finishes up, Jack rolls of the bed. He ignores the way his muscles twinge and protest. He snatches his pants off the floor and steps into them, careful not to go too fast. He’d rather stay in bed and kiss Gabriel until the sunset, but he doesn’t want to assume what Gabriel wants. He’s struggling with the laces on his pants when a set of arms wraps around him from behind.

“You’re acting like things should be awkward,” Gabriel says, mouthing at the shell of Jack’s ear, hot breath caressing the sensitive spot behind it. Jack can’t suppress the shiver that travels down his spine.  _ Awkward. _ He knows Gabriel doesn’t mean it as an accusation, but it sure feels like one. He doesn’t know how to react, doesn’t know how to deal with the morning after or say goodbye. 

He doesn’t  _ want _ to say goodbye, doesn’t want it to be the permanent kind of goodbye.

Experimentally, Jack grinds his hips back. He’s rewarded with a soft moan in his ear, one of Gabriel’s hands moving to his chin and angling it so he can kiss him. He tastes sweet, a bit of icing from a sweet roll still clinging to his lips. Jack didn’t peg Gabriel as the type to like sweets, but he’s not about to complain.

Gabriel loosens the laces of Jack’s pants and slides his hand inside to palm at his cock, grinding his own into the clothed cleft of Jack’s ass. It’s not long before they’re both panting and desperate. Jack leans against the nearest surface, the dresser with the basin on it, and Gabriel hooks his thumbs into his pants. The leather bunches up at his knees, but Jack is impatient.

“Leave it,” he breathes. “Just fuck me already.” They forego the fingers this time around. Jack’s still fucked open from last night, though Gabriel does pull away to grab the oil he used. He laughs at the impatient sound of disapproval that Jack makes. 

His knees almost buckle when Gabriel pushes into him in two fast thrusts, but Gabriel has his hands on his hips and keeps him upright. He blankets himself over Jack, presses his chest against his back and Jack swears he can feel Gabriel’s heart thundering between his shoulder blades. He stretches an arm behind his head and swivels his head as much as he can. They can’t quite get their mouths together, but it’s good enough just having Gabriel’s lips on him, making promises he has no business making.

It’s over before he knows it. They’re slumped together on the dresser, and Jack realizes a quarter of the liquid in the basin sloshed out and is now dripping on the floor. He watches the drops, breathes in time with the slow drip of it.

Gabriel presses a kiss between his shoulder blades. “We should keep this up,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be either three or four chapters depending on how difficult the last one wants to be. Hope to see y'all next one.


	2. Scoundrel's Folly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is one place in Riften Jack has deemed "off-limits."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you HeroFrequency for answering all of my oddly specific questions about Skyrim's religion and geography. And for playing the Thieves Guild questline for me like four times.

There’s a leak in the guild that makes it impossible to keep clients. Mercer thinks they’re using an old smuggling contact, and Argonian named Gulum-Ei who’s set up in the bustling capital of Skyrim. Jack is the only one willing to make the trip to Solitude, though he almost changes his mind when Mercer reminds him he doesn’t have to seduce Gulum-Ei for information. Brynjolf stifles a laugh and reminds Jack to keep the job clean, then promptly apologizes because that second one was an accident, he swears. 

The tall houses and winding streets of the Imperial-funded city reminds Jack of home, but even with the ornate arches and towering silhouette of the Blue Palace, Solitude is still only a fraction of the extravagance and grandeur of Cyrodiil. The soaring mountains that surround the keep are taller and capped with snow, though, and the Karth River sparkles like sapphire, which gives Solitude a more natural allure.

Jack is almost disappointed when he finds Gulum-Ei drinking alone in the Winking Skeever the night of his arrival. Getting him to talk is just as easy, since all he wants is a case of Firebrand Wine from the Blue Palace. The guards in the White-Gold Tower are ten times more trained, and Jack could slip past them in his sleep. He’s feeling smug until Gulum-Ei says, “I don’t know anything about your leak, just that she has a grudge against Mercer Frey.”

“No shit,” Jack says, fingers wrapping around the handle of the dagger strapped to his hip. Gulum-Ei gives him a look that’s daring him to try it, and it’s so obvious the slippery fucker thinks he’s played Jack like a fiddle and is going to get away with it.

He leaves the Winking Skeever with his case of wine and a skip in his step, doesn’t even bother looking back. For three days, he keeps a suspiciously consistent schedule. He wakes up before the sun rises, heads to the docks for work where he keeps his head low, spends an hour at the Skeever, then goes home. The Argonian is smart, but Jack is persistent. 

On the fourth day, Gulum-Ei doesn’t leave the docks, hastily making his way to the East Empire Trading Company Warehouse. He doesn’t even notice he’s being tracked through the maze of containers and crates to a grotto - that Jack didn’t even know existed -full of bandits. They’re easy to avoid, too, though a few are the unlucky recipients of some broken bones and minor concussions courtesy of Jack.

He has Gulum-Ei cornered.

“The leak?”

“Karliah,” the Argonian stutters, falling to his knees. “The name of the person you want is Karliah. She murdered Gallus and now she’s after Mercer.” His raspy sobs bounce off the walls, filling the cave with wet and choked sounds. Jack spins on his heel towards what he hopes is an exit only to hear, “So you aren’t going to kill me?”

“Consider it a favor,” Jack says over his shoulder. Gulum-Ei is lucky. Mercer could have taken out a contract with the Dark Brotherhood for all the trouble he’s caused. Gabriel would have had this wrapped up in a matter of hours, Jack thinks with a fondness that wasn’t there two months ago. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say he was almost missing him.

“Ugh,” Jack says out loud, disgust dripping from the syllable as he sneaks aboard a cargo vessel set for Riften.  _ Again. _ Jack hates the word. Happenstance no longer dictates when they see each other, their weekly dalliances becoming almost a commitment. Ugh. Jack hates that word even more. Seasickness keeps Jack from sleeping through the voyage, so he focuses on how much he hates boats instead.

The overwhelming scent of fish and rotting wood that clings to Riften’s dilapidated docks is a welcome reception. The sailors don’t bat an eye when Jack climbs onto the upper deck and saunters down the ramp, too caught up in moving crates and barrels to the warehouse to care about a stowaway. 

It’s almost noon, and the sun is trying its best to shine through the perpetual layer of clouds that always seems to be looming over the small city. He can see Mistveil Keep and and the Temple of Mara from here, or rather, he can see the tips of the towers peeking out from behind the tall, stone walls that surround them. Mercer will want to hear about Karliah as soon as possible, so Jack takes the shortcut through the cemetery to get to the Cistern.

He’s not expecting a particularly warm welcome when he checks in with Mercer, but the man seems intent on being a record level of frigid today. Jack almost considers turning on the charm, but that guarantees a knife in the chest so he doesn’t push his luck, just recounts what Gulum-Ei told him. 

“I’ll start tracking her whereabouts; I’ll let you know when I manage to find her,” he says. “And take a damn bath. You smell worse than the Rataway,” he adds when he turns around.

Jack tries not to deflate, but his shoulders slump against his will. Brynjolf gives him a sympathetic smile. “If it makes you feel better,” he says, fishing a piece of paper out of his tunic, “your boy left you a note.”

“I don’t have a boy.” He snatches the note greedily, but doesn’t unfold it. “Who’s Gallus?”

“That’s...a bit of a long story there, lad,” Brynjolf says unhelpfully. Hurt flickers across his features, and Jack figures Gallus must have been a friend, or at least someone worthy of Brynjolf’s respect. “Let’s save it for another night?”

Jack doesn’t get the chance to protest, so he turns his attention to his note from Gabriel. He traces the dark, heavy strokes of the letters. A clumsy blot of ink almost blocks out an entire word, but knowing Gabriel, it could be a purposeful touch.  _ Meet me at the Temple of Mara, _ it reads.  _ Six-thirty. _ It’s unsigned.

Jack’s heart drops to his feet.

The people of Riften have something of a soft spot for the goddess Mara, which Jack finds absolutely ridiculous. It would make more sense to have a temple devoted to a god of septims - Zenithar maybe - than one devoted to the Mother Goddess of Love. Curiosity got the better of him at some point and he’d asked of course, been told that Riften is such a garbage pit that the Temple of Mara is the only possible Divine that could save the city, but still. The Goddess of Love in a city where people would sooner kill you than extend a hand of compassion? 

_ Live soberly and peacefully, _ Mara says. Considering the drunks and murderers that make up most of Riften’s population, that’s an impossible standard to live up to.

_ Honor your parents, _ Mara commands. An orphanage overflowing with sick and miserable children makes that another impossible standard to live up to. Jack himself threw honor to the wayside when he left home two years ago.

_ And preserve the peace and security of home and family. _ If the Guild can be considered his home and family, Jack’s sure he can craft a convincing argument to prove he’s at least trying to meet command number three, though he doubts Mara would see it that way.

“So why the fuck does he want to meet there?” Jack huffs, voice cracking as he paces the damp stone floors of the Flagon. The bar is mostly empty, and everyone can hear Jack ranting, though everyone is pointedly trying to ignore him. “The Temple of fucking Mara, of all places,” he continues. He makes a wild gesture at Delvin, who doesn’t look up from his book.

“Maybe he wants to ask for your hand,” he says, no longer amused by Jack’s extreme overreaction to the note he received from Gabriel.

Jack laughs a sarcastic laugh that bounces off the walls in a sickening echo. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not the marrying type.”

“It’s just a fucking building, Jack,” Delvin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose when Jack spins on his heel again. “Stop pacing.”

Jack ignores him and turns again. “I mean, where does he get off? Asking me to go to the Temple of Mara like that. In a note, of all things.” 

“He’s written you to meet him places before. Please, stop pacing before I lose my mind.”

“I’ve told him half a dozen times that temple is off limits-”

“Jack.”

“-but  _ no. _ He just has to go and break the rules!”

“Jack! I swear to all nine of the Divines if you don’t stop-”

“A note, Delvin!” Jack slumps into the empty chair across from Delvin and kicks it up, balancing on two legs as he digs his heels into a crevice in the stone floor. The chair groans in protest as Jack rocks back and forth. “Did he say anything to you about it?”

Delvin snaps his book shut and sighs so hard it turns into a groan. “Yeah, Jack. In fact, he was in here just a few hours ago asking my opinion on this gaudy diamond ring. Asked my permission and everything.”

“That’s not even funny. Stop trying to be funny.” Jack shoves his hands in his pockets, but it just makes him want to fidget more so he takes them back out to pick at a loose thread on his tunic. It doesn’t help him calm down.

“Just go to the damn temple, Jack. It’s just a building. S’not like you’re gonna get smited or some shit,” Delvin laughs. Jack hunches his shoulders and makes a strangled noise. Delvin blinks. “Oh come  _ on-” _

“Do not,” Jack bites, shaking a finger, “say a word.”

“She’s the mother-goddess, Jack. She loves poor lovestruck saps like you.”

His chair almost tips back, and his voice raises a few octaves when he says, “who said anything about love? I’m not in love. Why would you say that word?”

“You’ve been saying it this entire time-”

“There you go again, trying to be funny. I told you to stop.” The Flagon suddenly feels stuffy and warm, too warm. Jack can feel the sweat starting to bead on his palms and forehead.

“You’re impossible. I don’t see how Gabriel puts up with you.”

“Fuck you.” Jack kicks his chair back again, tries to focus on balancing instead of how fast his heart is pounding.

“I’m trying to help. Stop being such an asshole.”

Jack sighs and scrubs his face. He’s being unfair and he knows it, letting his nerves get the best of him. “It’s your fault, you know. If you hadn’t been double booking my jobs, I never would have met him in the first place.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Delvin’s chair scrapes against the stone when he stands. He kicks Jack’s precariously balanced chair on his way to the Cistern. Jack doesn’t fall, but he still complains nevertheless.

Nobody else is interested in Jack’s woes, pointedly avoids his presence so as not to accidentally invite him to speak. He supposes Delvin is right. The temple is just a building. The only reason it has any special meaning ascribed to it is because a bunch of random people said so. A bunch of random people said Jack had an obligation to get married and follow in his father’s footsteps and that didn’t stop him from hightailing out of the capital as soon as he could.

Gabriel isn’t even from Tamriel, it’s not like he follows any of the Divines. Jack himself has made his feelings on the Divines, or at least on Mara herself, very clear, so Gabriel couldn’t exactly think it’s a special place for Jack. It takes a shot of Colovian Brandy and the knowledge that Delvin would never let him hear the end of it to finally make him march towards the back exit of the Flagon and make his way outside.

It hasn’t snowed in Riften yet, but it’s still fucking cold. The sun is already down, making it colder, but at least the town is small and the ramshackle buildings are close enough together that the wind is mostly blocked. Jack pulls his collar up high as he passes by a guard.

The Temple of Mara is a cold-looking stone building that’s tucked away in a back corner of the city, almost completely out of sight. The short spire that sits on top of the building juts into the cloudy, gray sky above. Two skinny, bare trees sit on either side of the walkway, which is overgrown with prickly brown crabgrass and covered in stains and dirt from lack of upkeep. The stairs leading up to the heavy wooden door are cracked in several places and loose in a few others. For being Riften’s only saving grace, it sure is one of the more unimpressive Temples Jack has seen in his entire life.

Gabriel is leaning on the wall next to one of the moldy banners up front, toeing at a pebble on the walkway. For a few moments, Jack is rooted to the spot, breath caught in his throat as he just stares at the way the clouds of Gabriel’s breath evaporate. He steels his nerves again and does his best to look casual when he saunters over to Gabriel. The smile he gets from Gabriel makes the past three hours of stressing out worth it.

“You’re late,” he says, straightening up.

“I had trouble finding the place,” Jack laughs, trying to swallow the bubble of nervousness that rises in his throat. “What’s with the change in scenery?”

“Just wanted to try something new.” He tilts his head towards the temple, a motion for Jack to follow him when he pushes off the wall. Jack takes a deep breath and looks at the sky. The threat of snow hangs in the air, but it’s probably too cold. Definitely too cold to fool around.

Jack lets loose a breath of relief when Gabriel leads him towards the back of the building. It’s a tight fit, the wall of the temple nearly kissing Riften’s surrounding wall, but they manage. Gabriel immediately starts climbing a ladder, rungs sagging under his weight. Jack waits for him to reach the top until he follows suit.

Gabriel extends a hand when Jack gets an arm on the clay shingles. “Please don’t tell me we’re going to have sex on top of the Goddess of Love’s temple,” he says, falling into Gabriel’s arms as he tries to find his center on the steeply angled roof.

“No,” Gabriel snickers. “That’s dangerous.” 

It’s the time of year that the blue, green, and purple ribbons of the Northern Lights are dancing across the sky. They’ve been commonplace for Jack for over twenty years, nothing all that special until he saw the way Gabriel looked at them one night, sat on the sill of the big window in Honeyside.  _ I’d only ever heard stories about them, _ he’d admitted quietly when Jack leaned on the sill next to him, heavy blanket wrapped around his shoulders. 

Jack remembers the way his dark brown eyes seemed to reflect the entire night sky that night, compares them to the way they’re shining now. “I was thinking,” Gabriel says, low voice pulling Jack out of his thoughts.

_ “That’s _ dangerous,” Jack parrots. Gabriel smiles and drops his head, squeezes Jack’s hands in response. He shivers and it’s not because of the cold.

“Don’t be a shit, I’m being serious.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” spills out of his mouth without him intending it to.

Gabriel’s nose wrinkles, but he doesn’t acknowledge Jack’s words. A pit forms in Jack’s stomach. “I think I want to court you.”

Jack laughs. It’s the kind of laugh that’s bitter, the kind of laugh reserved for receiving bad news, the kind of laugh Jack choked out when his father told him his mother died when he was fifteen. He can’t stop it, not even when Gabriel furrows his eyebrows and juts out his bottom lip. It feels like ice is coursing through his veins at the same time a fire that heats his ears and face lights under his skin. He steadies himself with a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and finally manages to say, “no, you don’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

“You don’t even  _ know _ me!” And it’s not for lack of trying. Gabriel’s been trying to get to know him for months, but half the things that spill out of his mouth are lies to protect himself from...well...he supposes he trusts Gabriel with his life now, but Jack doesn’t think he himself is worth  _ courting. _

He wouldn’t marry to appease the Elder Council, even under the threat of being cut off until he changed his mind. Joining the Guild made the thought of marriage even more unappealing - for one, anyone in the Guild would probably slit his throat if the price was right, he sure as hell wasn’t about to marry one of them. He hates Gabriel for even suggesting it. He hates Gabriel for making things complicated.

He must have said that out loud because Gabriel wraps his arms around him, pulls Jack into his chest and just holds him. “It doesn’t have to be complicated,” Gabriel says. Jack shakes his head and buries his face in Gabriel’s furs. When he inhales, the fur tickles his nose.

“Let’s just…” Jack pulls away, but Gabriel keeps his arms around him. “I bet I can pickpocket more off the guards than you can.”

“What do I get if I win?”

“It doesn’t matter. You won’t win.”

“I think it’s cute how you think you can beat me,” Gabriel laughs as he pulls away. 

“I’ve been in the Guild far longer than you,” Jack points out and Gabriel just shrugs as he walks towards the edge of the roof.

“That’s why it’s gonna be even funnier when I kick your ass,” he says. “You have an hour.” He’s still got his arms up when he teeters backwards off the edge. He lands noiselessly in the alley below, and Jack only sees the flap of his cloak when he rounds the corner.

Jack takes his own sweet time making his way down the ladder, confident that he can lift more things in half the time Gabriel gave him if he wants to show off. With a surge of confidence, Jack struts to the Bee and Barb for a drink to warm up. 

Talen-Jei’s special drink of the day is Jack’s favorite, the Imperial City inspired White-Gold Tower. It’s a sweet, golden drink with cream and lavender, with a Dragon’s Tongue for garnish. He drinks two as he smooth-talks the guards that had the same idea as him, flirts a bit as he swipes things from their pockets. When he leaves, he’s pleasantly tipsy and his coin purse is heavy with seventy-six septims, a locket housing a vial of poison, an enchanted amulet, and a silver ruby ring.

“Prepare to see what victory feels like,” he says when he meets back up with Gabriel. He tosses the purse of stolen items at Gabriel before he gets all the way up the ladder, and Gabriel pretends to weigh it as he waits for Jack to settle in next to him. Gabriel produces his own purse, and it’s lighter than Jack’s. There’s only sixty-five septims, an amulet, and a ring. “Looks like I win.”

“My ring’s worth more than all your shit combined. Better luck next time.”

“What?” Jack snaps, digging in the bag for Gabriel’s ring. He scowls when the sapphire gem twinkles at him. “Doesn’t matter! I said  _ more  _ stuff. I clearly got more.”

“You didn’t say stuff. You just said more.  _ Always _ go for value, Jackie.”

Jack snatches his purse back from Gabriel and clutches both bags to his chest protectively, daring Gabriel to make a grab for them. “Now I have it all. I win.” Gabriel smiles and scoots closer. He rests his chin on Jack’s shoulder, stares at him with the same starry-eyed look he has when he looks at the Lights. 

“Blue matches my eyes better,” Jack says, turning his attention back to the ring. He traces the engraving with his thumb, tries to think of something else to say. 

“It does,” Gabriel agrees quietly. Idly, Jack spins the sapphire ring between his fingers, not daring to slip it on. He wants to say something, tell Gabriel that he hopes that whatever they have now is enough, maybe give him some sort of explanation. As the silence stretches, Jack feels more and more uncomfortable.

“What else do I get for winning?”

Gabriel hums. “What else do you want?”

Jack’s response is a press of his mouth against the corner of Gabriel’s, who seems taken aback by the sudden gesture. He quickly readjusts and slots their mouths together, laps at Jack’s bottom lip until he separates them. He puts a big hand on Jack’s cheek, and warmth blossoms all over, makes his limbs tingle.

“You taste like sugar,” Gabriel says breathlessly. Jack just keeps kissing him, lets his hands wander under Gabriel’s furs. He finds a gap in his armor, the side where he laces the leather pieces together, and curls his fingers against the tunic underneath.

Gabriel jumps and twists away from Jack’s hand with a huff. “Tickles,” he explains, almost whining.

“Your fault,” Jack mutters, lips still smooshed against Gabriel’s. “I don’t get how you’re always so warm.”

“I told you: I’m the Dragonborn,” and that gets another laugh out of Jack because of course Gabriel is still sticking to that fantasy. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Jack grins. “I thought you said it was too dangerous to fool around up here.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows raise so high a little wrinkle appears in his forehead. “This ain’t exactly fooling around.” He shoves his hands under Jack’s shirt, fingers like red-hot iron on his cold belly. Jack shrieks and tries to roll away from the assault, laughing as he does so.  _ “This _ is fooling around,” Gabriel continues, hiking Jack’s shirt up some more.

_ “Gabe!” _ Jack lurches forward, nearly vaulting off the sloped roof before Gabriel steadies him. Their teeth clack when they come together again. Jack groans in pain and pulls away, cradling his mouth. He tries his best to scowl, but Gabriel’s smile is lopsided and a little dopey and he immediately cracks.

A fluffy flake of snow lands on Gabriel’s hood, followed by a second and a third and fourth. “Well, ain’t that just romantic,” Gabriel mutters, eyes following a flake that lands on Jack’s nose. He stands and ruffles Jack’s hair, brushing out some snow. “Let’s get a room.”

Luckily, their usual room at the Bee and Barb is empty, though Keervara insists it’s just coincidence when Jack sidles up to the counter. He watches Gabriel disappear up the creaky stairs before counting out the septims. His fingers brush against the sapphire ring and his heart jumps. Keervara rolls her eyes.

“At least try and clean up after yourselves this time.”

Jack winks, pulls his hand out of the coin purse like he’s been burned. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

“You’re not as charming as you think you are, thief,” Keervara snarls. “I ought to start charging you more if you’re going to wreck my sheets every other week. I have a wedding to save up for, you know.” She flashes the amethyst ring on her scaly finger.

“Ugh. I never want to hear that word ever again.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t happy for me. Talen-Jei told me all about how you helped him with the ring.”

“I was in an extremely generous disposition. He took advantage of me.”

“One of these days, someone’s going to melt that cold heart of yours, Jack, and I’m going to laugh.”

“When Talen-Jei comes to his senses and leaves your ass, I’m going to laugh,” Jack parrots. He worries it’s a little too cruel, but Keervara finally cracks a smile and shakes her head.

“Get out of here already, before I change my mind.”

Jack doesn’t need to be told twice, especially since he knows Gabriel is waiting for him. He navigates his way around the tables, full of half-drunk and happy patrons stuffing their faces with what’s left of dinner. A few people greet him, but for the most part he’s ignored. Talen-Jei makes his way over to the bar, says something to his bride-to-be that makes her giggle - or at least Jack thinks it’s a giggle.

He wonders if that’s how he looks when he’s with to Gabriel, wonders if Gabriel knows how happy he makes him, wonders if he makes Gabriel that happy. His fingers fumble as he fishes the sapphire ring out of his coin purse. 

The ruby twin is gone, probably rolled off the roof at some point during the night. It’s fine. It wasn’t his to begin with, but he would have liked to have the set for sentimental reasons. He takes one of the amulets, replaces the pendant with the ring, and slips it on the chain. It clacks against the heavy, metal birthright around his neck when he tucks it underneath his shirt.

Gabriel’s back is turned to the door when Jack enters the room. He’s already stripped of his armor and most of his clothes, slightly damp tunic the only thing remaining, clinging to the curves of his body. When he bends over to towel off his legs, the swell of his ass becomes visible, and Jack can’t help but suck in an appreciative breath.

It gets Gabriel’s attention, but Jack doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed. “You gonna stand there all night, or you gonna come in?” he asks, straightening up. Jack doesn’t answer him, just leans against the doorframe and looks at Gabriel, standing in their dimly lit room wearing next to nothing. He swears he can see a bit of red high in Gabriel’s cheeks, but he doesn’t comment on it. 

“Jack?” His voice is small, vulnerable, and a little confused. It doesn’t quite snap Jack out of his trance, but it gets him moving. He strips himself of his own furs, lets them drop on the floor much to Gabriel’s displeasure. “You’re gonna ruin your shit.”

“Don’t care,” Jack says, but he likes that Gabriel does. Gabriel watches him with steady eyes, doesn’t even blink at the sound of metal hitting wood when Jack drops his belts and harnesses on the floor. He’s in just his leggings and boots when he loops his arms around Gabriel’s neck.

“What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” 

“With any luck: you,” Jack breathes before adding, “as soon as possible.” Jack doesn’t give him the chance to respond, presses their mouths together as roughly as he can stand until Gabriel melts against him. He doesn’t resist when Jack pins him against the nearest surface - in this case, the wall - in fact, he pulls Jack closer. They don’t stay there long, sliding to cup his ass and pull him closer and slot their legs together. Jack wishes Gabriel had some hair to pull, but he’s content with scraping his nails against the rough texture of his shaved scalp.

“Holy shit,” Gabriel gasps when Jack suddenly drops to his knees. The thin fabric of Gabriel’s tunic offers only a modicum of modesty, barely long enough to cover the quickly-swelling cock beneath. Jack’s mouth actually starts to water, and his cock starts to stir, but he ignores it, focuses on Gabriel. 

If he was a patient man, Jack would take the time to tease Gabriel, lavish him in attention until he was sobbing with want. He’d bite and kiss and lick at the soft spots on the insides of his thighs and suck deep, purple marks into his hips that would last for days. He’d take his time, tear Gabriel apart with just his lips and teeth and tongue, make Gabriel forget his own name - forget about everything but Jack and the word  _ please. _

But Jack’s not a patient man, and neither is Gabriel, and maybe that’s why, despite two months of fucking each other, it still feels like a wildfire when they’re together.

Gabriel’s cock is hitting the back of Jack’s throat faster that he can appreciate the salty, heady taste that fills his mouth. His hips snap forward, but Jack pins him back against the wall just as fast, earning a sound between a frustrated whine and a moan of encouragement. Jack knows Gabriel’s trying to be patient, the nails digging into his scalp indicate that  _ trying _ is the key word.

The small  _ thump _ of Gabriel’s skull bouncing off the wall is almost masked by the breathy,  _ “fuck,” _ that slips out of his mouth. Jack can’t help but smirk, or at least do something close to it as he swallows more of him down. 

“What the fuck,” Gabriel groans when Jack’s nose is buried in the wiry curls at the base of his cock. He digs his thumbs into Gabriel’s hip bones when he starts to bob his head, moans when he feels Gabriel struggle against the pin. 

An outright sob tears out of Gabriel’s throat when he comes, surprising them both enough that Jack pulls off just in time for white fluid to streak across his lips and cheek in hot streaks. With one eye open, Jack peers up to see Gabriel biting on his own fist, trying to muffle the noises spilling from his mouth. Through half lidded eyes, Gabriel watches Jack swirl his tongue around the head of his cock, coax every last drop out of him until his knees buckle and he slides down the wall, shirt catching on the wood.

“What the  _ fuck,” _ he says. Jack wipes his lips with the back of his hand, breath coming in ragged puffs that match Gabriel’s. “What the fuck,” he repeats, hands scrabbling for purchase on Jack’s shoulders to pull him in close. Jack laughs when their mouths crash together, Gabriel an uncoordinated mess as he tries to get his lips to work and ultimately fails. 

He gives up and slumps against the wall, tearing off his hiked up shirt, letting it drop in his lap. Jack makes a noise when he sees the glint of the ruby ring he thought he’d lost earlier on a chain around Gabriel’s neck. Gabriel follows his gaze, smiles a lopsided grin before saying, “I like red better than blue, anyways. Figured it was a fair trade.”

It’s Jack’s turn to shower Gabriel in graceless kisses, though nowhere near as hard and bruising as before. His mouth tingles like the time a Sparks spell backfired on him, and he’s no longer shivering because he’s cold, but rather because his blood feels like it’s made of static; every moan, and Jack can’t tell if they’re coming out of himself or Gabriel, feels like a roll thunder. Lightning strikes when Gabriel slides a hand between his legs, making him jump.

“Did you already-”

“Yeah.”

“From just-”

“Yeah.”

“How embarrassing for you,” Gabriel teases, swiping a thumb across Jack’s cheek. There’s stars in his deep brown eyes, a whole other sky full of changing constellations that only Jack gets see. He doesn’t want to turn away, but his legs are cramping and Gabriel’s starting to shiver as they cool down.

Reluctantly he stands up and tries to rub some of the soreness out of his thighs before falling into bed. Gabriel’s not far behind, fighting with Jack for the covers before they finally settle in a comfortable position that has Jack half on top of Gabriel, head resting on his chest.

He traces the lines of his scars with a featherlight touch that has Gabriel struggling not to laugh and twitch as he drifts off to sleep. “I hope this is enough,” Jack says, voice barely above a whisper.  _ I hope I’m enough, _ is what Jack means. The arm around his shoulder squeezes him softly and Gabriel lips brush against his forehead when he mutters, “It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter - I think it's my favorite one! I adore comments.


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